


Tumblr Drabbles

by biscuitlevitation



Category: Carmilla (Web Series), Hannibal (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Soul Eater, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, キミガシネ | Kimi ga Shine | Your Turn To Die (Visual Novel)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Amnesia, Angst, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Character Death, Character Study, Clubbing, Drabble Collection, Established Relationship, FAKEOUT MAKEOUTS, Humor, Inspired by Indiana Jones, Internalized Misogyny, Introspection, Kidnapping, Matchmaking, Meet-Cute, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Snippets, Undercover as a Couple, Unrequited Love, clone culture, except the baby in question is a murderous teen bounty hunter, surprisingly not in the hannibal one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-27 05:11:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 9,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20754884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biscuitlevitation/pseuds/biscuitlevitation
Summary: A collection of short little oneshots and plot bunnies I've posted on tumblr over the years.-Chapter 1 - Hannibal, "Meat Cute"Chapter 2 - Your Turn To Die, "Total Player Kill"Chapter 3 - Carmilla, untitledChapter 4 - Harry Potter, untitled FleurmioneChapter 5 - Soul Eater, "Fragrance"Chapter 6 - Star Wars, "A Forgotten Joke"Chapter 7 - Jangobi Darth Revan AUChapter 8 - Codywan Indiana Jones AUChapter 9 - Jangobi Matchmaker Hondo AUChapter 10 - Star Wars, "Simulacrum"Chapter 11 - Boba & Obi-Wan Surprise Adoption AUChapter 12 - Dark Jangobi, Kidnapped Obi-Wan AUChapter 13 - Codywan Fakeout MakeoutChapter 14 - Star Wars, Leia angst





	1. Meat Cute

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly just to put these where I can find them because I honestly forgot a few of these existed.

Will despises public transportation almost as much as he fears it. The noise, the smell, the prickle of _thoughtsfeelingsideas_ taking up what little space their sources haven’t already. It doesn’t help that the predominant emotion in a crowded bus tends to be irritation. Will can’t tell if he’s truly irritable or just soaking in it, which only serves to irritate him further.

Will’s alarm hadn’t woken him the first time it had gone off, as he was still exhausted from his night terrors, and then Winston had decided to join him in the shower. He’d had to towel him off so that he wouldn’t get frost bite during their morning walk, during which Buster had made a break for it. Will had had to hunt him down through a bramble patch and pick out all the thorns from his wiry coat, pricking his fingers raw in the process. To make matters even worse, his car wouldn’t start, and Will was too late and too socially inept to ask his neighbors for a jump start.

So now he’s packed into a bus like a sardine and doing his level best to look as misanthropic as possible. It isn’t very difficult.

The floor lurches tremendously under his feet, and Will yelps as he falls back into some unfortunate’s lap. Hands clad in soft leather gloves come up to steady him even as he scrambles to pull away, causing him to overbalance once more. His glasses slip off his face and clatter underneath the seat. Will whines pitifully before he can stop himself. He’s taking far too much after his pack.

“Oh, god, I am so sorry,” he babbles as the stranger helps him up. Will kneels to retrieve his glasses and their eyes catch in the process. Will freezes, bracing himself, but all he sees in the man’s maroon irises is his own reflection. He shields incredibly well. In this chaotic environment, it’s comforting, like sinking into a warm bath.

“My pleasure,” he responds, amusement in his tone but not his gaze. Will stares, fascinated. 

The passenger sitting beside them mumbles something unsavory. Will tears his eyes away and stands, flushing. The man sends them a single sharp glance, cowing them into submission, and extends a hand.

“Hannibal Lecter. And you are?”

Will smiles nervously, reflexively, eyes glued to Hannibal’s fine leather glove. “Will Graham.”


	2. Total Player Kill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the massacre, Sara and Nao go home.

Sara can’t sleep alone anymore.

Nao doesn’t mind. Every night she holds Sara close, absorbs the shudders that wrack her too-thin frame. (Nao can’t stand to cook anymore, but Sara eats so little that she hardly seems to notice Nao’s aversion to the kitchen implements, to the stove.) She kisses the dark rings beneath each violet eye, covers one ear and pulls the other to lie against her chest, to listen to her heartbeat. 

Sara is the only reason Nao still has one, after all.

Sara doesn’t scream, anymore. She just stares at people who aren’t there. Sometimes she talks to them, although her voice is so hoarse she might as well stay silent.

The worst days are when she apologizes. Nao always wraps her in her arms and reassures her, over and over again, that she did nothing wrong. Nao is alive because of her; Sara is a _hero._

(And if she isn’t… if she was wrong to do what Nao asked of her, in that last game… then what does that make—)

They were evil, the people who aren’t there. They all wanted Nao to die. Even Kanna. Even… even Reko.

Sara did nothing wrong. _Sara_ (Nao) _did nothing wrong._

When she isn’t at school or with Sara, Nao paints portrait after portrait of Professor Mishima. She knows now that his AI was just a facsimile, an imperfect caricature; her beloved teacher was a good judge of character, and would never have told her to trust people who wanted to harm her. When he had been alive, he had liked Sara; he had once told her that all of her friends were good because Nao was good. That meant that she and Sara were both good people. Neither of them were to blame.

She doesn’t paint anyone else, not even Joe. Sara, in one of her more lucid moments, had asked her not to. It was the first and only thing she had ever asked of Nao, and Nao would do anything for Sara. 

“Joe, Joe, please forgive me,” Sara begs. The room is dark and empty, but her eyes track something pacing around the bed, back and forth, back and forth. 

Nao holds her tighter, strokes her unwashed hair and her gaunt cheeks, coos “Sara did nothing wrong” like a lullaby, like a benediction.

“Please,” Sara says, voice as thin and weak as a cut thread, like it’s coming from an open neck— 

…Nao’s one regret is that she hadn’t stayed long enough to find out who had stolen her professor from her, though it brought her comfort to know that the culprit was months dead, by now.

“Please, just please don’t hurt Nao. I can’t lose anyone else.”

“Oh, _Sara_,” Nao whispers, her cracked heart brimming with love and gratitude for this empty shell of the girl she had once so admired. 

Even if Nao had broken her beyond repair with one simple request, even if everyone else she had once protected was gone, Sara would always, _always_ be her hero.


	3. Chapter 3

Carmilla has never liked sunny days.

Sunlight doesn’t burn her any more than it does humans, but it blinds her, makes her small and weak and useless. She much prefers the night, when she is mysterious and strong and able to vanish if she pleases. She has always been a creature of darkness, even before her mother.

Elle had preferred rainy days, with their muted light and their solitude. She and Carmilla used to dance in it, stripped to their underthings (so scandalous back then, but more modest than her everyday clothing now). Carmilla remembers her rare smiles and fleeting laughter. She remembers her anger and agony, tightly controlled and all the more apparent for it.

Laura loves sunny days, insists on throwing open the windows and studying out on the grass. She never asks Carmilla to accompany her, but her smile is always radiant when she does. She laughs and she cries and she screams without shame when she feels she has a right to, which is always. Carmilla can be as nasty as she wants, sometimes more than she wants and Laura will always snipe right back.

Perhaps Laura’s love of the sun is why she likes Danny so much. Warm, fiery, protective Danny, different in so many ways but _just_ similar enough to let her hope, which is almost worse.

But Laura had refused Danny’s help, because she wants to protect herself. Laura accepts Carmilla’s help, because she only offers it, never forces it on her. Perhaps–

A beam of light and a chirped, “Rise and shine, lazybones!” drag her from her musings. She yells and pulls the covers over her head, snapping obscenities. Laura just laughs.

Carmilla allows herself a slight smile. She has never liked sunny days, but she has learned to love sunny people.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I mangle Fleur's accent, because I'm always down to oppress the French. Also I couldn't stop thinking about adult Hermione in box braids.
> 
> Rowling has a bit of an issue with internalized misogyny, on top of all the other stuff, and I wanted to address that.

Hermione has never understood girls. She doesn’t understand boys, either, but it stings much more acutely when she can’t relate to people who are supposed to be like her.

It isn’t that her classmates are unkind; far from it. They often engage her when she’s alone in the dorm or the halls. Lavender offers to do her hair and Parvati talks about unicorns and centaurs and Hannah Abbott is always up for a conversation about the Muggle world. 

Hermione tries her best, but a snort or a disparaging comment always slips out when they say something too silly or do something too girly.

Things are easier with Harry and Ron. She can criticize all she likes, and they never act silly in the way that girls do.

“Just be one of the guys, like me. Girls are too catty and obsessed with things like fashion and makeup,” Ginny tells her when it come up. Hermione doesn’t think that’s quite it, but she laughs and agrees, anyway.

“I dunno. Girls are too bloody complicated. You shouldn’t want to be like them, anyway,” Ron says. “You’re fine as is.”

“I don’t want to be like them,” Hermione snaps, then pauses. Who is “them?” She supposes he means people like Lavender and Parvati, but she doesn’t understand why she feels so insulted at the implication.

When she asks Luna, she says, “It’s a matter of live an let live.” She drifts away without clarification.

-

It’s many years and deaths and beginnings later when she finally gets a satisfactory answer.

“Oh, Hair-my-knee,” Feur sighs, carding her fingers through Hermione’s long braids, “Zere ees no shame een being a woman.”

“I never said that!” Hermione protests. “Women are just as capable as men and we don’t all wear frilly things or care about makeup–”

“Zees ees exactly my point,” Fleur cuts in. “Such theengs are not silly or shameful; zey are just another form of self-expression.”

Hermione quiets, in understanding and guilt. “I suppose you’re right.”

“I always am, cherie,” Fleur says, and presses a kiss to her cheek.


	5. Fragrance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, the relationship between Tsubaki and her brother ends with her literally EATING HIS SOUL. Why does no one write about it??? It's mythological levels of tragic and fucked up.

When you were a little girl, you sometimes wondered what your brother might taste like.

-

Your meister is flawed. Everyone knows it, you most of all. It’s probably what drew you to him in the first place. Always so loud, so proud, so demanding, so open. He’s like nobody you’ve ever known before.

Resonating with him feels like eating lightning.

Your stomach _aches._

-

You are the heiress. Your clan has a long, proud history with the Shinigami himself, and you will become a Death Scythe, like all the clan heads before you. You are strong. You are fearsome.

You are a little girl.

You are hungry.

-

The adults whisper about your older brother when they think he can’t hear them, but even when he does, he never shows it. He just goes quiet, and looks sad.

You can sense the true resentment under his mask, the anger. You are his sister, his protector, his future matriarch, and you have always been able to sense soul wavelengths.

The pair of you are more similar to each other than he will ever know.

-

As you grow older, you both grow apart. You must be forged into the ultimate weapon, like your mother and your grandfather and all the others who came before you. You must learn to fight and protect and sense but never, ever taste. You must learn the art of tea ceremony and flower arrangement and diplomacy. You must become silk hiding steel.

While you are doing this, your brother becomes steel hiding rot.

-

When you board the plane headed for Shibusen, your brother doesn’t come to see you off.

After landing, you get a call from your father telling you that he packed his things and vanished while the rest of the family was bidding you farewell.

_Good riddance,_ you don’t think. You are silk hiding steel. You are a weapon. You are a camellia blossom.

You were tired of playing ball.

-

Shibusen is strange, and your classmates stranger. The EAT class is filled with child soldiers, but they are all more child than soldier. They’re all younger than you, in both years and maturity, even your meister. _Especially_ your meister.

You act more like silk than steel here, as that seems to be the part of you your meister needs most. Despite all the things your clan told you, a weapon is only as dangerous as its wielder.

You relish it and hate it in equal measure.

-

When you get mad at your meister, you can yell at him without feeling guilty or cruel. You don’t do it very often, but the option is always there, and that makes all the difference.

-

You are a camellia blossom. You are a weapon. You are Tsubaki.

You _do_ have a fragrance.

You raise your brother’s soul to your lips, and take a bite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tsubaki is cordially invited to eat me whenever she wants


	6. A Forgotten Joke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on that old WW2 joke about the Russians, the Brits, and the Americans, with a healthy dose of Clone Wars angst on top.

There was an old clone trooper joke that went like this:

_General Koon, General Kenobi, and General Skywalker are arguing about who has the bravest men. They decide to settle it once and for all by making a bet._

_Koon goes first, and claps a hand on a trooper’s shoulder. “Son,” he says, “I am so proud of you. Could you take out that battalion of droids for me by yourself?”_

_The trooper, being a member of the Wolf Pack, is practically bursting with pride. “Sir, yes, sir!” he says, and he goes and does it, all with a smile on his face._

_“Impressive, but I think you’ll find my men to be more so,” says Kenobi. He calls over one of his men, leaning seductively on the side of a ship, scandalously showing a hint of collarbone. “Hello, there. Do you think,” he purrs, fluttering his lashes, “that you could capture that Separatist base for me, with one hand tied behind your back?”_

_The trooper, being a member of the 212th, is cherry red and vibrating with excitement. He can’t even speak, just nods vigorously, and does it in record time._

_“Pssh, that’s nothing,” says Skywalker, and waves one of his men over. “Hey, trooper, I want you to strip off your armor and go ask Ventress for a drink.”_

_The trooper, being from the 501st, gives his general an incredulous look and promptly answers, “Kriff, no, sir!”_

_Skywalker, beaming, turns to the other generals and says, “See that? That’s **real** bravery!”_

Rex is one of the few who can remember it, and one of even fewer who knows why it was once funny, even if it isn’t anymore. It was very true of his brothers in the Wolf Pack and the 212th, for all that Cody passionately (and blushingly) used to deny it, glancing around anxiously for fear of his general overhearing. When the chips activated, it stole what little culture the vode were able to build for themselves, and it stole the generals who were the basis of the joke in the first place.

Well, maybe not Skywalker. But when he hears the stories of Vader’s Fist, the callousness with which he spends clone lives and the absolute obedience he expects from his men, Rex thinks it may as well have.


	7. Jangobi Darth Revan AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt on tumblr: "Obi-Wan in a sort of Darth Revan-like situation, where he had left the Jedi to become a Mandalorian in a time period where it’s still an Empire (Mand'alor Jango’s lover/spouse lol), was betrayed by a high ranking Mandalorian and captured by the Jedi, and had his memories erased."

His head hurt again.

“Sir?”

Ben looked up from where he was massaging his temples to a concerned-looking Republic pilot. Everyone else in the room was staring at him with varying levels of confusion and annoyance, with the exception of the Jedi general; he never seemed to look at Ben at all. 

“My apologies. Please continue, Knight Skywalker.”

His jaw visibly clenched, and Ben sighed. Every word he said just put his assigned Jedi further on edge. He had no idea what he’d done to gain his animosity. It had started before Ben had ever even spoken to the man.

After the meeting, Ben stayed behind to iron out logistics with his pilots and officers. Skywalker was a brilliant tactician, but he rarely went slowly enough for anyone else to catch up. Ben had become something of a translator for the lower ranks due to the ease with which he could decipher Skywalker’s plans. 

“Vice Admiral Jinn!” someone chirped, and Ben smiled despite himself.

“Padawan Tano! A pleasure to see you, as always. How may I assist you?” 

Tano rolled her eyes with her typical brand of charming teenage insolence. “You don’t have to be so formal, Vice Admiral, Ahsoka’s just fine.”

“Then you should call me Ben, my dear.”

She made a face that made Ben rub his beard to hide his grin. “Ew, no, that’s weird, you’re old. Besides, Skyguy got mad at me when I called you that that one time.”

Ben’s smile faltered. “Perhaps your master wants to impress the importance of formality and diplomacy upon you.”

Tano’s eyes flicked to the side, and she graciously didn’t mention that Skywalker was informal with everyone _but_ Ben. And his treatment of Ben could more accurately be described as distant, or even hostile, than formal. “Yeeeeeaaaah, maybe. Anyway, Master Skywalker said to make sure you get checked out by the medics before we engage the enemy tomorrow! Your headaches are getting bad again, huh?”

“Ah... perhaps a little bit,” Ben admitted. “I’ll make sure to do that.”

“Great!” Tano said. “Stay safe, Jinn, and good luck tomorrow!”

“Thank you, padawan. May the Force be with you.” He started towards the medical bay, but not before catching the surprised expression that crossed her face, as if he’d done something odd. His head throbbed sharply, and he struggled to conceal his flinch. Perhaps Jedi took offense when Force nulls used their sayings? Pity. They just rolled so smoothly off the tongue.

-

Ben absolutely despised the medbay, not least because the medics always found an excuse to knock him out and inject various mystery substances into him. But he wouldn’t complain; these treatments had saved his life, after all. 

A year or so ago, Ben had suffered a battlefield injury that resulted in acute retrograde amnesia. He had no memory of his life before, though apparently there wasn’t much to remember. He had no friends and no family, and barely any personal effects besides his scars, which at least confirmed that he spent a lot of time on the battlefield. A search on the holonet for his name turned up nothing but a few reports of a Jedi master with his surname that had died in battle over a decade ago. But Jedi were notoriously secretive; the only reason any public records of him existed was because he’d been given his funerary rites on Naboo instead of in the Temple itself. So that was a dead end, despite the connection Ben had wanted there to be.

They always put him under in order to improve his cognitive function before high-stress situations, particularly in battle. Too much mental strain gave him debilitating migraines and, as one of the few officers in the Republic besides the Jedi that fought alongside the rank and file soldiers, he needed his wits about him.

He definitely needed them now.

“FALL BACK,” Ben bellowed, picking off Sith soldiers from behind a collapsed wall. He might have greatly disliked blasters, but he had an almost preternatural accuracy when he put his mind to it.

Skywalker and Tano were whirlwinds on the front lines, engaging the Sith Acolytes while Ben and his soldiers fought their blaster-wielding meat shields. They were quickly being overwhelmed, despite Ben’s best efforts. Anakin had gotten too cocky, and Ben wanted to grab the boy and _shake_ him because he _knew_ Anakin knew better than this.

“Uh, sir, they have reinforcements,” a lieutenant muttered, and around him Republic soldiers let out a chorus of curses.

Some very familiar cruisers had warped into orbit, so close that they were visible through the gaseous atmosphere lit up by full starlight. 

“Osik, not Mandalorians,” Ben groaned.

They weren’t anywhere near the Mandalorian sector! Sith were Ben’s specialty; the brass kept him on the Sith front and he never took part in campaigns against them. It could be inconvenient at times, but only the Jedi had the combat versatility to be deployed anywhere, and Ben was no Jedi.

But the Mandalorians were behaving very strangely.

From what little he knew of them, Mandalorians’ approach to warfare was vicious, enthusiastic, and extremely destructive. He wouldn’t be surprised if they decided to attack the Republic soldiers _and_ the Sith forces in one fell swoop.

But that wasn’t what happened.

His soldiers were still pinned behind their cover, and Ben refused to leave the battlefield while Skywalker and Tano were still in the thick of it. (Tano was a _child_, and Skywalker... he felt oddly responsible for Skywalker.)

What descended from the ship wasn’t an invasion force but a jetpack strike team of ten or so Mandalorians in full armor, weaving expertly through the aerial assaults of both sides. Most of his soldiers were dead before they even touched down.

Skywalker had finally noticed what was going on and was trying to cut back through the battle towards him, but the Acolytes took advantage of his distraction to surround him and Tano. Ben was on his own.

He took a few potshots at their jetpacks, knowing that firing directly at beskar armor was useless, but a Mandalorian in shining blue and silver armor took careful aim and actually shot the blaster out of his hand in an incredible show of marksmanship. Then they were touching down and lunging for him.

Ben did his best to fight back, but the sight of starlight glinting off his assailant’s T visor made something in his head shatter and the pain left him weak and fumbling. The Mandalorians had him subdued in no time and then someone was pressing a hypospray into his neck while the Mandalorian who’d reached him first touched his cheek with trembling gloved fingers.

“Kar’ta ner,” they breathed, voice cracking audibly even through their vocoder. “_Cyare._”

“What...?” Ben gasped, because he’d never learned Mando’a, _why did he understand them--_ “Who?”

But the drugs were already working. The Mandalorian caught him when his knees buckled. He was cradled in arms that were astoundingly gentle despite being clad in armor, and his stomach swooped when they took off into the air. Blaster bolts were still whistling around them and people were screaming but Ben, in the only year of his life that he could remember, had never felt so safe before.

“OBI-WAN,” someone screamed, raw with rage and anguish, and Ben didn’t recognize the voice until he looked down and saw Skywalker--Anakin-- sprinting uselessly towards the takeoff point, tears carving through the soot on his face. Tano was close behind, confused and worried and he could _feel_ her fear for him. He could feel _Anakin’s_ fear.

“Sleep, Obi-Wan. We’ll be home soon,” his Mandalorian said, so gently, and the galaxy spun away from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OBI-WAN GOT LOIS LANE'D AND NOW I CAN DIE IN PEACE
> 
> very very VERY unbeta'd


	8. Codywan Indiana Jones AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "what about codywan treasure hunters as a little prompt?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for glimmerglanger, one of my favorite star wars authors :)

Cody often complained, when sufficiently smashed, that his husband was going to get them both killed one of these days. 

(He ended up complaining to his husband about his husband more often than not, considering the level of inebriation required for Cody to complain about anything. Then he’d have to sleep alone when Obi-Wan showed his remorse by exiling himself from their bed/tent/shared sleeping bag like some sort of penitent monk. Cody wished they could just have makeup sex like a normal couple.)

Obi-Wan, quite possibly, was going to get them killed _today._

“You just had to touch it, didn’t you?!” Cody yelled, dodging a hail of poison darts and leaping neatly over a trip wire.

“It’s an ancient Je’daii holocron, darling, I couldn’t just _leave_ it!” Obi-Wan replied with a rakish grin, artifact in one hand and Cody’s in the other. He gracefully sidestepped a pit trap filled with spikes.

“YES YOU COULD HAVE,” Cody bellowed, manfully resisting the urge to kiss his smug smile off his stupid face.

“And let _Ventress_ find it first and sell it to the highest bidder? No thank you! One of these is equivalent to an entire library! All that knowledge, lost forever to some ignorant trillionaire who’ll use it as a curiosity rather than a treasure trove of historical knowledge? I can’t ethically allow that to happen!”

“All right, all right, cyar’ika, point taken!” Cody replied, pulling Obi-Wan down to avoid the pendulum blade that had nearly cleaved his skull in two. His husband, of course, barely noticed.

“And that blasted _Vos_ helps her do it!” he continued ranting, as if the four of them didn’t regularly go on double dates. “You have no idea how lucky I am to have you now, Cody, the only good thing that reprobate ever did for me was introduce us.”

Kriff, and now he was giving him the eyes, half-soulful and half-coquettish. Cody determinedly digested his butterflies. They’d been married for years, those little bastards should have been long gone by now. 

Instead he still felt like he had the first time he met noted academic and famed archaeologist Dr. Kenobi. Vos had been Kenobi’s companion for remote expeditions, but the pair of them just goaded each other into more and more extreme feats of daring until Vos had ended up breaking an ankle and a few ribs when he’d fallen halfway down a mountain. Obi-Wan had insisted on continuing his work even with the wrist he’d broken catching Vos before he tumbled off a cliff, so Vos had gotten into contact with Cody, because survivalists and guides tended to run in the same circles. Cody took one look at the man with a nasty scrape on the side of his head and his arm in a cast cooing over a parasitic worm and was instantly smitten.

“Put the holocron away, at least. We still need to rappel down the temple wall.”

Obi-Wan actually pouted, the ridiculous man, but gently placed it in his bag while Cody jumped from tile to tile in the giant mosaic they had found earlier, careful to keep to the same order as when they’d come in so that they wouldn’t trigger yet more traps.

Soon they were climbing back down the sheer walls of the massive ruins. They must have been even more awe-inspiring during their prime; Cody could make out crumbling statues and carvings in the walls themselves, though he couldn’t recognize what they were meant to represent. His husband might have more luck, but Cody wasn’t going to let him spend the rest of the day in climbing gear clinging to a rock face with the ground a thousand feet below no matter how he tried to talk him into it.

They had only just touched the ground when they were on each other, kissing fiercely in celebration of their continued survival and success. Adrenalin always made Obi-Wan passionate, but Cody would never complain. He really had no leg to stand on. He just groaned deep in his throat when Obi-Wan pushed him against the temple wall and hauled him closer, one hand buried in his sweaty copper hair and the other pressed against the small of his back.

“Professor Kenobi?!” someone squeaked.

“_Obi-Wan_, are you really gonna make out with your husband _now_? You’ll traumatize the intern!” someone else said, mock-scandalized.

Obi-Wan broke the kiss, flexing his fingers against Cody’s hips. Cody groaned for a very different reason than before and turned to shoot a glare at Skywalker, Obi-Wan’s annoying pet grad student, who just smirked unrepentantly. The little shit had stopped being intimidated by him ever since he befriended Cody’s brother Rex, who worked as a holovid stuntman but whose true passion was razzing Cody for all he was worth. Behind him hovered Tano, the undergrad unfortunate enough to have Skywalker as a mentor. She was also friends with Rex, though fortunately her mortification over seeing her favorite professor ravishing his husband trumped her shit-stirring tendencies, at least for now.

“Did you find the holocron?” Skywalker was asking.

“We’re not amateurs,” Cody said, voice low and rough. Tano stifled a nervous giggle.

“Great! Dean Palpatine will be thrilled. If you give it to him he said he’ll have it restored on his own dime!”

“I don’t want this to vanish into his private collection like all the other artifacts I haven’t had a chance to examine,” Obi-Wan said tartly, and Cody smothered a snicker at Skywalker’s offended expression. “I find these artifacts to _study_ them, not sell them. It belongs in a museum! Now if you’ll excuse us, I want to visit the river and bathe. Cody?”

“It’ll be freezing this time of year,” Cody pointed out, but when Obi-Wan set out, leaving a moody Skywalker and a blushing Tano behind, he was right at his husband’s side. Just like always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im bad at writing kiss scenes and established relationships hhhhhhhhhh why do i do this to myself
> 
> w/e im not gonna worry about it these are all for fun so im not even revising!! i just switched some words around im so proud of me
> 
> inspired by that excellent obiana jones fanart on tumblr :D


	9. Jangobi Matchmaker Hondo AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "hi! I love your writing it brings me so much joy! anyway have you considered an AU where jango and obi-wan are captured together/break out of prison together?"

Obi-Wan woke up in a very familiar cell with a pounding in his head and groaned, long and low and heartfelt.

The pounding subsided somewhat. Ah, someone had been banging on the walls of the brig. How considerate of them to stop.

“Who’s Hondo got on guard duty this time?” Obi-Wan called, sitting up and rubbing at his temples, pleased to note that he hadn’t been restrained. It just wasn’t sporting, after all. “Evus? Yoro?”

“It’s me,” Carsi said smugly, strutting into view in front of the energy field at the front of his cell and striking a pose. “You’re not getting out this time, you slippery bastard, I’ve got money riding on this.”

Obi-Wan rubbed his inner canthi and vowed, as he often did when he visited Hondo, to never drink again. “My dear, I might have the week off but I do need to be getting back eventually. The Temple usually gives me 5-8 business days before they shell out a ransom.”

Carsi opened her smirking mouth to respond when someone in the cell next to them growled, “The Haat Mando’ade don’t pay ransom and you’ll be paying yours in blood if you don’t give me my karking armor back _right now_.”

Carsi’s mouth snapped shut with a click, eyes wide, and Obi-Wan took pity on her. She was young and headstrong and reckless, which meant Obi-Wan was predisposed to like her. He still owed her for trouncing her at dejarik in front of her girlfriend, which was undoubtedly why she had volunteered to guard him in the first place.

“Now, none of that, my friend. Is this your first time enjoying Captain Ohnaka’s dubious hospitality?”

“This is the _last_ time because once I’m through with him he’s not going to have a kriffing ship anymore,” the apparent Mandalorian growled, “Or _legs_.” 

Carsi edged closer to Obi-Wan’s cell.

“That will be unnecessary, I’m sure. Hondo might be a pirate but he’s a decent sort. No serious harm will come to you, at least not if you don’t deserve it. Hondo might even let you go without a ransom if he wants something else from you, though if your armor is made of beskar it might be a lost cause.”

Something that sounded like a fist slammed against the wall. Carsi jumped a foot in the air.

“Like. What,” the Mandalorian ground out eventually.

“Well, the last time I was here he wanted me to win a sabacc tournament for him, and he once kidnapped my padawan because he’s a former pod racing champion. Do you have any unexpected talents, by chance?”

“Killing people.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “Well, that’s not quite _un_expected, but I’m sure Hondo will have a use for that.”

Carsi visibly gulped. 

Eventually their host decided to show his face, though not before the Mandalorian detailed how he planned to break each bone in his body. Poor Carsi looked like she regretted ever taking this guard duty, no matter how much money she’d win from the pool if she managed to keep Obi-Wan there. (The current record was 3 days. A Jedi’s ransom had become something of a white space whale for Hondo.)

“Kenobi, my good friend!” Hondo crowed, throwing a companionable arm around Carsi’s shoulders, who promptly dislodged it. “And Fett, my valued associate!”

“Hondo,” Obi-Wan greeted, with a reluctant smile.

“I hope you enjoyed the party last night, boys! I broke out my best liquor for it!”

“_That_ was your best liquor?” Fett asked, almost despite himself. Hondo tended to have that effect on people. 

“Obviously not, I wouldn’t waste it on guests! Especially not Kenobi, he’d just knock it back.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes but didn’t refute it. “Whatever I drank last night was quite impressive, in any case. I couldn’t even taste the drugs.”

Hondo laughed. “There weren’t any drugs, my friend! You just drank two bottles of tihaar and passed out on the table.”

“That was tihaar?” Obi-Wan asked, surprised. The New Mandalorians never made it that strong.

“You _gave all my tihaar to a jetii?_” Fett said at the same time, then paused. “How are you not dead, Kenobi?”

“I… have extensive experience,” Obi-Wan admitted sheepishly. “Did you brew it yourself? It really was quite good. Stronger than I’m used to.”

“The true Mandalorians make true tihaar,” Fett said, pride creeping into his voice. “None of that weak Sundari banthakark. ‘S real draluram.”

“I must admit that I agree with you, even if the taste might leave something to be desired,” Obi-Wan agreed. “Is your papuur’gal stronger, as well?”

“Of course it is, jetii. You wouldn’t believe what those aruetiise try to pass off as real alcohol…”

-

Hondo slipped out once the conversation got lively, congratulating himself on a job well done. It wasn’t easy–Hondo liked being the center of attention, as was his due, and normally he would be offended that his unwilling guests would be rude enough to ignore their gracious host.

But Hondo liked them both. Kenobi was his friend, and Fett was an honorable man. They would make an interesting pair, especially considering that Hondo had trapped them in the one environment that wouldn’t immediately lead to a fight (Fett’s doing) or a raunchy one-off entanglement (Kenobi had worked his way through half of Hondo’s crew, not to mention Hondo himself, at this point).

Hondo was as skilled at matchmaking as he was at piracy! Perhaps he could start a side business. Advertise it in his best man speech. Mandalorian weddings were always fun. And this way Fett might not take his anger out on Hondo’s kneecaps once Hondo traded him for beskar. 

And if he was very lucky, Kenobi would like Fett enough to stay and let Hondo finally get his hands on that Temple ransom…


	10. Simulacrum

Cody has never felt more like a clone than when General Kenobi looks at him.

That’s not to say that Kenobi treats him like most non-Jedi do; far from it, in fact. The general makes a point to treat him and all his brothers with the respect that natborns seem to warrant just by existing. Kenobi acknowledges both their individuality and the unique culture that arises from being created and raised as a unit. He’s not just respectful, he’s kind.

The thing is, Kenobi is perhaps one of the only people in the galaxy that Cody would not blame for showing a little cruelty.

Cody hadn’t been there for the first invasion of Geonosis, but he’s heard the stories. All the vode have. How the Prime had turned on the Republic to stand with the Separatists. How Kenobi had tracked him there. How, even in the midst of all the chaos, he’d been begging Fett to reconsider, to stop forcing his hand.

How, after the battle, he’d replaced the beskar gauntlet Fett had been conspicuously missing, and took the cloth belt Fett wore everywhere beneath his armor.

But Cody has his own, even earlier memory of Kenobi, during his first visit to Kamino. He’d looked up to the observation balcony above, surprised to see someone unfamiliar standing with the Kaminoans. But more than the Jedi robes or the dripping water, what had struck Cody most intensely was the horror, the surprise, the _grief_ on his face, as if he’d seen a ghost made flesh.

That’s what he thinks about now, trapped under a collapsed building with his General, who’d tried and failed to save two other troopers from being crushed. There’s a lot of blood. Cody isn’t sure how much of it is Kenobi’s, how much of it is his, and how much of it is his brothers’.

The general’s clothes are soaked in it, in any case, and he’s gotten that rapid breathing, pale skin, and cold sweat typical of blood loss. Cody presses harder over the biggest wound in his torso, his own blood dripping into one eye and obscuring his vision. His general groans, which is a bad sign; Kenobi tends to take his licks quietly.

“It’ll be all right,” Cody keeps muttering, over and over again. He doesn’t want to be the first of his batch to lose their general without going down with them. He doesn’t want Kenobi to leave him behind.

“I know,” Kenobi says, so softly that Cody can barely hear him. His eyes are glazed. He lifts a trembling hand to touch Cody’s face, and Cody freezes. A natborn has never touched his bare skin before. 

“I trust you, Jango.”

His eyes are so, so warm. Cody’s never been looked at like this. He doesn’t think anyone in the galaxy has. Besides the Prime.

“I just want you… t-to know that I…”

Cody can’t speak. He can’t breathe. 

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.”

Cody says nothing. He doesn’t–he can’t–

The slightest of furrows appears between Kenobi’s brows, even as a sad smile twists his bloody lips. “I know you don’t feel… as I do. Maybe you never did.”

That’s a lie. Cody knows what trading armor means. All the vode do. They knew what Kenobi meant to Jango the moment they saw him taking off the gauntlet.

He can’t let his general die thinking he wasn’t loved.

“I do,” Cody whispers, leaning into the hand on his cheek despite the deep cut in his temple. “O-Obi-Wan, you know I do.”

The smile that breaks across his face is blinding. Cody wonders, absently, if he’s bleeding internally, because he feels like he’s been stabbed.

It takes an hour for the 501st to dig them out. Kenobi is unconscious by that point. Cody nearly refuses to give him up to the medics, but Rex puts a hand on his shoulder and Skywalker is watching and Cody–

Cody can’t.

Not right now.

Cody tells the medics to let the cut scar, which they do without a fuss. Scarification is pretty common amongst the vode, especially those who don’t get tattoos. There doesn’t need to be a deeper reason behind it.

He just wants his face to be his own.


	11. Surprise Adoption AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "Can you write something using the "law of surprise" just imagine obi-wan having a child of surprise or a bounty hunter of surprise"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i assume we're going off the witcher here when we talk about the law of surprise lol

“Our thanks to you, Master Jedi, for saving the life of our child,” the queen of the Naryll system said. “How may we repay you?” 

Their child, who swung between prince and princess depending on their mood, batted their lashes. Apparently they were aiming to become the repayment.

“That’s quite unnecessary, your majesty,” Obi-Wan said. “The Jedi are at the service of every system in the Republic.”

“You think us incapable of repaying a service in kind?” the queen asked, frowning thunderously. Her hand came to rest on her war hammer.

“Not at all, your majesty,” Obi-Wan backpedaled, with an apologetic bow. “I merely mean to convey that the Jedi do not accept payment for following the will of the Force. It goes against our code.”

“Yet we are no Jedi and this is not Coruscant,” the queen said. “You will adhere to our ways while you are on Naryll. Anything in our kingdom is yours, should you ask for it. Our own child will give their hand in marriage, if you so desire.”

“That’s–I could never take a spouse who I could not dedicate myself utterly to,” Obi-Wan sputtered, trying not to meet the eye of the prospective spouse in question, whose outfit appeared to be falling off. “Our code dictates no attachments, and my first priority will always be the Order.”

The queen’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“But! I would be willing to accept a boon in accordance with the law of surprise,” Obi-Wan said hurriedly. Naryll, being one massive planet-spanning weapons forge, lacked natural soil, so the royalty often received beautiful and rare plants as gifts or tribute. He’d likely get one of those.

“Your majesty!” one of the royal guards chose that moment to bellow. “We caught this little thief trying to break into your personal armory. What should I do with it?”

Obi-Wan pivoted to see the unmistakable scowl of young Boba Fett, son of Jango Fett, whose eyes narrowed at the sight of him. 

He felt the Force bond take root in his soul.

“The law of surprise has been fulfilled,” the queen boomed. “Jedi, this prisoner is now your child. Perhaps next time you will take what is offered and avoid such happenings.”

“Oh, dear,” he murmured, as Boba gaped at him, “this _is_ a problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> set after aotc. Boba hates him for a good long while but eventually Obi-Wan gets accepted as the second father of the most skilled bounty hunter in the galaxy. The empire won’t know what hit them. Also in between there’s some 212th fluff about getting to know their new brother, Anakin being jealous and in denial about it, and then horrible angst once it all comes crashing down :D
> 
> alternatively this is an au where the true mandalorians are still around and this is teenage boba’s 1st solo mission and jango and obi-wan have to figure out how to be unwilling co-parents. anakin is still jealous bc of course he is. jango and obi-wan fall in love :D


	12. Kidnapped Obi-Wan AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "For Jangobi prompts? ...War prize Kenobi Au? Honestly anything more with that dynamic from the end of your last prompt fill, where Obi's drugged/vulnerable and Jango's the one in control and being creepy but also on the surface being reassuring and gentle and protective but like... is the one who drugged him or messed him up. Bonus points if Obi's getting cognitive dissonance on top of everything because his lightsaber crystal is freaking out at him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: drugging, kidnapping, implied stalking

Obi-Wan doesn’t know where he is.

He groans softly. He feels like he’s in vacuum, floating aimlessly, with no sense of direction or purpose. In the distance there’s something singing indistinctly, high and sharp and distressed. He wants it to stop. He wants it to come closer.

“Shh, you’re all right,” someone says softly, brushing a bare hand over his skull. It drags strangely against the skin there--stubble? He shouldn’t...

Hardeen. He’s Rako Hardeen. He’s in prison.

Right?

“Wha’ ‘appen?” he slurs, jaw too slack to fully close his mouth. He has to work hard to maintain Hardeen’s lower, raspier tones; they don’t come as easily as they should. “Who...”

“None of that, now, Kenobi,” the person chuckles, fingers tracing over one heavy eyelid. “Hardeen’s tats didn’t suit you, and neither did his voice.”

Obi-Wan’s stomach turns to lead. He knows he should be reacting, denying, but he feels too foggy to work up anything other than dread.

“You look younger without the beard. Kind of miss the hair, though.”

What did every Mandalorian he knows have against beards?

Ah. He recognizes this person, after all. Even if his eyes won’t open, he hears his husky voice every day, even if his signature is as wholly unique as each one of his clones. Deeper in a way that only comes with age.

Obi-Wan is excruciatingly aware that Melida/Daan was not his only time leading an army of children.

“Fett...?”

“Got it in one,” Fett confirms smugly. He’s still touching his face. Obi-Wan wishes he still had a beard to hide behind; no one’s touched him like this since he last saw Satine, and that skin to skin contact is overwhelming.

“Thought you defected from the Separatists,” he mumbles, trying to turn his face away from that warm, broad hand. It just falls to the side of his neck. 

Obi-Wan had told Fett to leave Geonosis, to take his child and run from whatever Dooku had planned for them. He could sense Dooku’s intentions for the boy were nothing good. Fett hadn’t listened until the battle in the arena, when Obi-Wan found the boy hidden on the sidelines and watching, and yelled for him to leave before he got hurt. Fett had been fighting Windu, and turned when he heard Boba’s name; Obi-Wan managed to deflect the master of Vaapad’s saber right before it went through his neck. He couldn’t let a child witness their father’s death. The family of two vanished, and Obi-Wan figured that was the last he’d see of Jango Fett.

He was wrong. He seemed to encounter Fett everywhere; on the battlefield, on diplomatic visits, with kriffing Hondo Ohnaka. The worst time was when he’d had to deal with Fett and Quinlan Vos on the same horrible mission. It was uncanny. Anakin sometimes joked that Fett was following him.

He has the sinking suspicion that Anakin’s jokes might not be far off the mark.

“Heard you died,” Fett says, as if that answers his question. He presses his fingers a little more firmly into Obi-Wan’s throat, as if to feel his pulse. “Wasn’t happy about it.”

“Why?” he asks, unthinkingly. Fett loathes Jedi; he killed six of them with his bare hands. He could so easily make that number seven.

Fett’s grip on his throat gets just a little tighter, then relaxes and moves to curl around the hinge of his jaw. He stays silent.

Obi-Wan wets his dry lips with his tongue, and tries again. “How did you find me?” His eyes finally manage to crack open, though his vision is hazy and unfocused. He can’t make out Fett’s facial features.

“Broke into the temple for a souvenir. Overheard you calling Windu.” Fett sets a thumb into the cleft of Obi-Wan’s chin, tilts his head up just a little bit. “You gotta stop using the same name when you’re undercover, _Ben._”

Obi-Wan’s pulse jumps against Fett’s fingers, and he laughs almost fondly. “Don’t worry, I didn’t break your cover. It worked too well for me. I just broke you out of prison and let everyone else think you’re still dead. Fixed your face while you were out, too. Hardeen’s a rough looking ge’hutuun, ‘specially compared to you.”

Obi-Wan takes a breath to respond and Fett’s thumb moves to his bottom lip, stroking it just a little. His voice catches in his throat.

“Got the souvenir anyway, just in case. Had to keep Boba from chopping a leg off. Maybe you can teach us how to use it; Vizsla’s getting a little too comfortable with my Darksaber.” He sets a heavy, familiar hilt on Obi-Wan’s chest, keeps it from rolling off when Obi-Wan’s limbs refuse to cooperate.

The kyber crystal sings shrilly, urging him to run, but he can barely make sense of the song, can barely sense anything at all in the Force that isn't Fett, warm and immediate and overwhelming.

“We’re gonna land soon,” Fett says, his other hand still splayed on Obi-Wan’s chest, over his saber. Over his heart. “Gonna put you back under till I can get you fitted for a collar. Boba’s excited to see you again; I don’t let him around spice, so he’ll have to wait. You’ll be shaky for a while, but you’ll get clean easy.” His voice darkened with rage and old hurt. “I know plenty about spice, thanks to Kyr’tsad and Dooku. You’ll be fine with me.

I’ll make sure of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just to let yall know i dont actually view the clones as children. i think that takes their agency and experience and maturity from them. but obi-wan might very well view them that way due to his experiences as a child slave and a child soldier.
> 
> poor obi-wan keeps getting drugged in my fics. idk how that keeps happening


	13. Codywan Fakeout Makeout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _"Um, if you still want prompts: codywan, blending in by making people uncomfortable with physical intimacy?"_

“Blast,” Obi-Wan said. “Looks like someone’s not happy we’re here.” He nodded his head at a few rough-looking specimens were eyeing them from the bar, fingering their blasters and muttering to the barkeep.

He had been tracking a lead on one of the senators’ multitude of would-be assassins, as he so often seemed to these days. Every time Obi-Wan returned to Coruscant he had another three missions lined up for him, whereas Anakin seemed to always have enough leave to attend Senator Amidala’s various soirees. 

He really was getting too obvious; a few concerned knights and masters had told him that young Ahsoka spent most of her time in the Temple alone in the archives or tagging along with Master Koon or various other masters who made time for her in their off hours. A varied education was of course valuable (Obi-Wan had spent quite a lot of time with Yoda and his friends’ masters as a padawan, himself), but he was concerned that Ahsoka was learning far more about how to be a warrior than how to be a Jedi from Anakin. 

But at this point there was little he could do; Anakin was a knight, not a padawan, and Obi-Wan was currently in a shady nightclub on Corellia getting dirty looks from the regulars he’d been asking pointed questions to. 

“It seems there’s nothing for it,” Obi-Wan sighed, making to approach them and hopefully negotiate his way out of a fight, but a hand grabbed his arm before he could.

“Sir,” Cody said, looking dashing but supremely uncomfortable in the sleek vest and tight shirt (complete with a plunging neckline) that was in fashion for Corellian pilots at the moment. Obi-Wan understood; he usually never left the Temple without at least three layers of tunics on, but for missions like these discretion was the better part of valor. Typically Vos or another shadow would’ve been tapped for such a thing, but apparently the chancellor had (yet again) requested him personally, as he often did for off-planet missions.

“Yes, _Cody?_” Obi-Wan stressed. Cody had insisted on coming along, and Obi-Wan had insisted in turn that they not blow their cover by using titles. Cody was, perhaps predictably, struggling.

“If you go over now you’re going to start a fight,” Cody hissed, “and then everything will go to hell and I won’t be able to keep up like Skywalker always does because I’m not _insane_.”

Obi-Wan blinked, thrown (and perhaps a little affronted, though Cody had a point). “And what do you suggest?” 

Cody’s eyes flicked over his shoulder, then he blurted, “Dance with me.”

Obi-Wan blinked, his traitorous heart skipping a beat. “During an investigation?”

Cody’s face did something complicated, but there was a doomed resolve in his eyes as if he was about to face down a firing squad. He took Obi-Wan by the wrists and dragged him out onto the dance floor. 

Their friends at the bar had started shouldering past drunken, gyrating clubgoers toward them, which was evidently what had caused Cody’s alarm. Obi-Wan pushed past his own reticence–he should not let his… one-sided attachment to Cody get in the way of their duty, and if Cody wanted to avoid a fight in this environment, Obi-Wan would defer to him.

So he grabbed Cody, one hand low on his back and the other on his nape, and started dancing.

“_Sir?_” Cody yelped, face crimson and stiff as a board. He might have flinched away if Obi-Wan hadn’t just pressed closer.

“You asked me to dance, Cody, so I’m dancing,” Obi-Wan said, trying very hard to keep his voice light and unaffected. He might have only danced at diplomatic banquets the past few years, but as a padawan he and his friends had sneaked out to the lower level bars and nightclubs on more than a few occasions. 

He’d have to be careful not to fall back into old habits–Cody was his comrade and subordinate, and no matter Obi-Wan’s personal feelings Cody didn’t share them. But if they were to fool their new friends he’d need _some_ cooperation.

“You have to touch me if we’re going to dance,” Obi-Wan whispered into his ear, beard brushing his jaw, and Cody’s hands came up lightning quick to grip hard at his hips. He still wasn’t moving.

“Aw, you pulled a shy one,” a gorgeous Twi’lek dancing next to them cooed, voice loud enough to be heard over the pounding music, an equally attractive human man and woman in each arm. “He’s delicious. Want to dance with us instead, pet?”

Cody shook his head rapidly. “No, thank you, sir,” he managed, and might have saluted if his hands hadn’t been glued to Obi-Wan’s waist.

“He’s with me,” Obi-Wan said with a sharp, rather unfriendly grin. He pulled Cody even closer, until they were pressed together from hips to chest. Cody shuddered against him, and Obi-Wan resolved to apologize profusely later on. His commander was clearly incredibly uncomfortable.

Obi-Wan managed to coax Cody into dancing, so close that it was more like grinding (albeit far too awkward to be as enjoyable as Obi-Wan used to find that sort of thing). Cody’s face was so red that Obi-Wan was worried he was going to get overheated. He tried to ignore the steadily-piling evidence that Cody disliked his closeness, disliked his touch. It was perhaps the most proper dancing Obi-Wan had ever engaged in at a club, and people were starting to notice.

“This isn’t working,” he said, as quietly as one could while still being heard over the music. “We’re just drawing more attention to ourselves.”

One of Cody’s arms abruptly circled his waist, the other hand coming up to press at his spine, and suddenly Obi-Wan was looking right into his amber eyes. His face was still red and he still looked horrifically embarrassed, but his gaze was dark and intent. 

“I’m gonna try something,” he murmured. “You can court-martial me later, Obi-Wan, but will you trust me to do this now?”

“Yes, of course, what–” Obi-Wan began, and then Cody’s lips were on his.

Even if he was uncomfortable with dancing, it was clear that this was an area Cody excelled at. Obi-Wan had to clutch at his solid back to stay steady, Cody’s mouth devouring his, stealing his breath and lighting up his nerves until he could barely focus on anything else. 

He made to pull back, to gather himself and catch his breath (and perhaps check to see where their pursuers were and if they had their weapons out), but Cody just followed him until Obi-Wan had to cling to his shoulders to stay upright. He felt Cody spread his fingers against his back and easily adjust to supporting the majority of Obi-Wan’s weight; he might literally sweep him off his feet if this continued.

Someone grabbed Obi-Wan’s shoulder and tried to yank him off, but Cody finally broke the kiss just to yank him back and snarl, in a passable Corellian accent, “The _kriff_ is your problem? You looking to eat my blaster, wermo?”

Obi-Wan couldn’t actually see his assailant, because Cody was wisely pressing his much more recognizable face into his neck. Perhaps that was for the best; Obi-Wan was feeling a bit faint.

“Isn’t that that Jedi–”

“What kind of Jedi would be sucking face in a kriffin’ Corellian cantina?” Cody retorted. “Now kark off before I feed you your own karking teeth.”

At this point other disgruntled dancers started yelling and heckling them, and their assailant slunk away with his tail between his legs, both metaphorically and literally.

“Your boy’s got bite,” the Twi’lek woman from before laughed, watching with interest, and Obi-Wan couldn’t help but agree.

They continued dancing just long enough to avoid looking like they were running away. Anger apparently distracted Cody enough for him to become more at ease, which Obi-Wan wasn’t sure if he should be grateful for or not. They eventually peeled off and left to follow a new lead, hopefully without any angry, suspicious patrons this time.

They walked in silence for a minute, Obi-Wan wishing that Corellia was a bit less hot. The muggy night air was doing little to cool his hot face, which would be even more obvious than Cody’s on his pale skin.

“I’m very sorry you had to do that, commander,” Obi-Wan said at last, once he was sure his voice wouldn’t crack.

Cody tensed beside him, still close enough that Obi-Wan could feel it. “Sir, I’m the one who came up with the idea to dance, and I’m the one who… uh.”

“Nevertheless, I forced you into that position,” he said wretchedly, looking anywhere but at the commander. Gorgeous, amazing, duty-bound Cody. How could Obi-Wan take advantage of his loyalty and dedication? “If you no longer feel comfortable working with me, I’ll get you transferred wherever you want, I swear it–”

And then Cody took his face in his hands and kissed him again, in full view of everyone in the crowded street. It was softer, but no less passionate than the one before, and he kept kissing him until Obi-Wan gathered the strength to pull away.

“Cody… you don’t have to–”

“I wanted to,” Cody interrupted, voice firm and eyes molten. “I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t want to, general. O-Obi-Wan.” He broke eye contact to duck his head. “If you’ll still have me as your commander, I would be honored to continue serving with you.”

He should say no. He was attached, and Cody’s direct superior, and Cody might have been mentally and physically in his twenties but he was chronologically _twelve_, for the Force’s sake–

But Obi-Wan was so happy he could hardly speak.

“If you’re sure,” he said at last, and the smile he got back–shy and sweet and beautiful–was blinding.


	14. Star Wars, Leia angst

Leia knows that she will Fall if she lets herself.

As much as she adores her brother, she is not Luke. She does not forgive easily and she does not love easily. Love, to her, is a broken, jagged thing, as easily used to hurt the loved as it can the lover; her heart is a weed that refuses to be killed no matter who rips it out.

Her parents, soft and kind and clever, tried to lead by example. They loved her in the subtle, devoted, enduring way they loved each other, the way they loved their duty and their people. Leia wanted so badly to be like them. She wanted to inspire, to make a difference, to help people.

But Leia loves like a wildfire, not a steady stream. Her passion means that she easily inspires people to fight and die in her name, for her cause, but she cannot hold them together when there is no enemy to defeat. She was meant to lead armies, not Alderaan.

Leia is meant for war. She shines brightest when she is broken.

When Luke asked her to join him, to become a Jedi, she knew she could not. Her rage and grief had already changed the galaxy, had spurred and inspired millions to do as she wished. She is afraid of what she would do if she had power like Luke’s at her fingertips.

And a part of her will always see her connection to the Force as Vader’s. Luke could transform it, could make it his own, but she felt nothing but visceral disgust at the thought of using it. She wishes more than anything that she could have shared the blood on his hands rather than the blood in his veins. 

The blood that poisoned her son.

Vader’s brutality she could take, because she could never and would never love or forgive him. But then, even after he had the decency to die, he destroyed her new family. Han left her. Luke abandoned her. Her son betrayed her. Her people, once they knew the truth of her heritage, no longer wanted her. All she is good for is to fight.

Her love and her rage are all that keep her going, even as they kill her. Her love has destroyed her.

If she dared to harness the Force, her love would destroy the galaxy along with her.


End file.
